Enviga Nights

That's a strange name for a post, huh. And it's slightly disturbing to boot. And it has absolutely zero-zip-zilch to do with this post. Well, I can apologize for it but I can't change it. I lost a bet. So that's the name of the post. Actually I didn't lose a bet. But a pretty girl was involved. So was the word please.

While we're on the subject of apologizing, I ought to mention that all three of us feel pretty bad about not posting on Friday. We knew we wouldn't be able to make it and we didn't even give you loyal readers a warning. Missing a post isn't a very auspicious way to kick off the year. We should have at least given a notice of absence. Better yet, we should have posted. But we didn't, because we were on the road.

N left earlier last week for a debate competition near San Diego. Being bums, C and I stayed home and watched Bonanza reruns for a few days. When the need to wash the dishes grew too great to bear, we formed a convoy with some other homies and made an overnight drive to meet up with N. We left late Thursday evening, and that's why there wasn't a post Friday morning.

A lot of crazy things happen when you cram five young adults into a small, bright yellow sedan and go on an overnight road trip. The anecdotes that follow (which follow a Restroom theme) are not representative of the general atmosphere of the trip. Honest. No really.

So we drove to a rest stop a half-hour from the tournament grounds and parked to catch a few hours of sleep. We were pretty tired by this point. I extricated myself from the car and wandered over to the restrooms. There were two buildings. The closest one was marked women and had a bright yellow tape across the door which said: "CLOSED. PLEASE USE OTHER SIDE."

Well I obviously didn't have any interest in the women's restroom, so I went over to the other building and took care of business. As I exited, a portly woman brushed past me through the door.

F: Hey, you might not want to go in there.
PORTLY WOMAN: Why not?
F: It's a men's.
PORTLY WOMAN: No, it's not. (points at sign)
F: What ... what the ... (notices that sign does indeed say women's)
PORTLY WOMAN: It's a women's.
F: ... Oooops.
PORTLY WOMAN: That's okay. You're gay, right?
F: What? No. No, I'm straight. Honest mistake.

I ducked around the corner and met my two male travel mates coming from the other side of the building. As it turns out, both buildings had women's restrooms on the north side and men's restrooms on the south side. Who would have guessed? My male companions had a nice laugh. Hahaha. Yes indeed. Good clean fun.

We went back to the car. After a half-hour of squirming, we all found places to tuck our legs into and drifted off to sleep.

Three hours later, it was time to hit the road again. I was absolutely socked. I was sleepier than van Winkle on Nyquil. And when your brain is sleepy, it follows familiar routines. With my eyes barely open, I went off and used the restrooms again. As I was washing my hands, I realized that I was once again in the women's restroom. Without bothering to rinse, I dashed for the door.

Too late.

PORTLY WOMAN: (suspiciously) Hello again.
F: Hey.
PORTLY WOMAN: I see you found the women's restroom. Again.
F: Yeah ... nice convenient spot. Close to the ... parking lot. The cars.
PORTLY WOMAN: It's okay to admit it. I won't condemn you.
F: Thanks, but I'm good.
F: This is kind of awkward.
F: I'm going to go now.

I left again, now wide awake and desperately rationalizing my repeat slip-up. This was one of those mistakes you don't want to make twice, especially in such succession, especially in the same spot, especially getting accosted both times. It's like I was living out a Life Tip.

I went back to the car. Hahaha. Yes indeed. Good clean fun.

So we went to the tournament. It was nice.

Yesterday morning, we saddled up and headed back home. Well, I happen to be a big fan of a soda that really flushes - ahem, travels - through the system fast, especially when consumed in the prodigious quantities I consider appropriate. Around noon, nature began to call. What followed was a first-class exposition on some of the differences between myself and my dear fellow contributor C, whose turn it was to drive at the moment. Please read carefully, people. This is a glimpse of what I have to put up with in FCN staff meetings. Read and feel sorry for me.

F: Hey, you'll never guess what.
C: Boxing became a legal sport in 1901?
F: ... Yeah, and you know what else?
C: A Major League Baseball team uses ...
F: Actually, no. I need a bathroom break.
C: What! Why didn't you use it when we left?
F: I did. That was a hundred ounces ago.
C: Well, you're going to have to hold it. We're making really good time.
F: Okay, but whenever you get the urge to stretch your legs, follow it.
C: I get plenty of stretch holding the accelerator pedal down.

T+30 minutes

F: Yyyyyyo.
C: (Turns down music a notch) Hm? What?
F: Any time you're ready.
C: Oh, right. Forgot about that. Sorry.
F: It's all good.

T+60 minutes

F: So I'm told that human charity is a virtue.
C: I'm told patience is a virtue.
F: I'm told if you don't pull over and stretch your legs every now and then you'll get a blood clot.
C: This is good for you. It's developing your muscles. It's like a free workout.
F: If I explode randomly, you won't have to wonder why I didn't leave a note.

T+90 minutes

F: Look, I'm sweating. I'm actually sweating.
C: Why can't you just hold it already?
F: I am, thank goodness. (Awkward silence.) Say, do we have any painkillers in the car? Because I've got cramps. In case any of you were wondering why I'm all hunched over with my head between my knees, that's why.
FEMALE HOMIE 1: I've got Ibuprofen in the trunk.
F: Sweet. Do you mind?
FEMALE HOMIE 1: We have to stop so I can get over there.
F: You hear that? We have to stop so she can get to the trunk.
C: You already know my answer. We're not too far from the rest stop. Just relax.
MALE HOMIE: No, the last thing we want is for him to relax.
F: I concur. Maybe we can access the trunk from in here. Let me try something.
(60 seconds later)
F: Sorry about that.
EVERYONE ELSE: That's okay.
F: So I'll just sit here and hold it like before. And in the meantime, I'm going to stop drinking Coke.

T+120 Minutes

FEMALE HOMIE 2: Whoa, you're looking kind of sick.
F: Why don't we just pull over and I can get this over with?
C: On the road?
F: I'll just hop over that fence into the meadow.
C: That meadow is carpeted with cacti.
F: You're impossible.
C: You're impatient.
F: You smell funny.
C: Funnier than your FCN posts.
F: Oh, that was clever. You come up with that yourself?
C: I would retort if I weren't so busy being competitive.

T+180 Minutes

F: Aaaaaaaaaaah. Aaaaaahaaaaaa. Aaaah.
C: (turns up music)
F: I just lost muscle control below the knees.
C: When you lose muscle control of your mouth, we'll be getting somewhere.

T+214 Minutes

C: Well, the tank is empty. We're coasting.
F: What!
(Soon after)
C: We'll have to get out and push.
F: No way. I am NOT getting out of the fetal position. Not in a million years.
C: And I'm not letting the ladies push so get out of the car.
FEMALE HOMIE 2: I can push.
F: Oh look. Now I feel bad.
C: Take his legs.
MALE HOMIE: Got it.

So we pushed the car down the shoulder. There was a barbed wire, electric fence on both sides of the road. I had no alternatives. I helped push the car, but with my legs crossed at the knee. And then again at the ankle.

Four miles later, we reached a gas station. I abandoned my post and hopped into the convenience store. Gum, tylenol, and soda wizzed by on either side. I slammed into the restroom door and hit a soft body on the other side. I ducked into the restroom and stared in horror. It was the portly woman from before. She was standing in line with several other portly women who were waiting for two very occupied stalls.

F: No way! How'd you get here?
PORTLY WOMAN FROM BEFORE: I knew it all along.
F: I'm sorry. I'm just in a huge rush.
PORTLY WOMAN FROM BEFORE: You can cut in front of me if you want.
F: (Turning to go) Nono, I'll just find the men's ...
PORTLY WOMAN FROM BEFORE: (Blocking my exit) Enough of this. It's time for you to end the charade.
F: (Growing frantic) No, you don't understand. I've had a boatload of Coke and I've been holding it for hours. I really need to go.
ANOTHER WOMAN: You can go ahead of us.
YET ANOTHER WOMAN: Sure, go right ahead.
AN IRRITATING WOMAN: You're gay, right?
F: No! I am not gay! This is all just a big mistake. Can we talk about this later with me on the other side of that door?
PORTLY WOMAN FROM BEFORE: Don't listen to him, ladies. He's just not willing to come clean.
STILL ANOTHER WOMAN: It's okay. You can tell us.
F: I am seriously not gay. Seriously seriously.
WOMAN AT FRONT OF LINE: Then why are you all doubled over like that?
F: I really need to go now!
WOMAN AT FRONT OF LINE: (Stepping away from stall door as a portly woman exits it) Help yourself.

I glanced at the Portly Woman from before, who still blocked my exit with a firm glare and crossed arms. I was in pretty strong physical pain. I had to make a choice. So I made it. I hobbled down the line of women, shut the stall door, and took care of the problem.

Hahaha. Yes indeed. Good clean fun.